


Upholstery

by Inky



Series: Inky's Yeehaw AU Tributes [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Safe Sane and Consensual, yeehumping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 13:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15607176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky/pseuds/Inky
Summary: He mimics tipping his cowboy hat to Shiro, even though he’s not even wearing it right now. It’s so lame. He's so dorky.Shiro gives a pathetic twitch in his pants.God bless Tim Horton.





	Upholstery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buffshiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffshiro/gifts).



> this is 100% self indulgent bullshit. sorry you have me as a fan [tofu](https://twitter.com/buffshiro)
> 
> -[elle](https://twitter.com/inkweaving)

“God _damnit_ , Shiro. What am I gonna _do_ with you?”

Clearing his throat, Shiro makes a valiant attempt to conceal his smile behind his fist. It takes far too much effort not to burst into laughter; he knows Keith is upset, but _really_.

Shiro’s laid out in the backseat, languid and serene with his daisy dukes still unbuttoned and his hair a rumpled mess. Arms stretched up and over his head, he looks up and watches headlights passing over him and running along the padded ceiling of Keith’s pickup. The smile he wears is smug, the scar across his nose wrinkled with glee as he moves his eyes to watch Keith’s profile from the backseat.

He’s so cute when he’s frustrated.

It’s three in the morning and Keith’s eyes are rung with dark circles from being out so late, but it’s Friday night. _Their_ night. And Keith’s too stubborn to miss out on an opportunity to accompany Shiro to the club on the weekend. Unfortunately, that also means Shiro’s had a few shots (just to loosen up, he claims) and he’s pink in the face and more than a little frisky.

Which, of course, had led them to this predicament.

As soon as they pull into the driveway, Shiro wears a wicked smile as Keith throws the door open, gets out, and slams it behind him. Shiro waits, patient, until a moment later when the back door opens at his feet and his long legs spill out into the night air. Keith is there to catch them, holding him by the calves and glaring at him through the darkness.

“You think this is funny?” Keith asks in a huff. Oops. Shiro uses his metallic hand to wipe the grin off his face, but he just can’t help it. Keith is so cute standing there, holding each of his ankles and spreading his legs.

“No,” Shiro says. He’s still stifling giggles. It really isn’t funny, but doing performative body shots off of drunk patrons is fun and earned him quite a few bucks in his g-string, tonight. He _deserves_ to be a little giggly.

Keith shakes his head and looks down, finally, between Shiro’s legs. There, clear as day on the brand new upholstery of his back seats, is a... uh, stain. A new stain. A stain that may or may not have happened the moment Keith had dragged Shiro out of the club and away from those tipsy patrons.

Keith had warned him not to mess up the new seat covers; they had been expensive, and Keith’s little interior pet project for the past couple weeks. And now, just like that, they’re fucked up again. Shiro supposes it’s his fault, but Keith had been the one to finish so hard and so fast that it had shocked even the seasoned stripper.

It really isn't his fault.

(The face Keith made when he came so fast reminded Shiro of an obscure Facebook meme.)

(He had laughed so hard he drooled Keith's spunk all over the place.)

It's definitely his fault.

“Come here,” Keith growls. Shiro just keeps on grinning, truly unable to help himself. He sits up, slow and practiced with a single flex of his abdomen. He scoots his butt up to the edge of the seat, and slides out of the truck with a completely unnecessary mewl. His arms are already up and around Keith’s shoulders, embracing him.

“Can’t you forgive me?” Shiro's voice is a purr and his chest roars with triumph as he feels Keith’s phantom shiver go up his spine. “Is there something I can do to make it right, baby? _Anything?_ ”

He swears Keith’s crotch is happy to see him, but Keith plants a hand on Shiro’s shoulder and pushes, holding Shiro away at arm’s length. And _oh_. The dangerous, smoldering look really does it for Shiro, who gives a soft whine. His knees threaten to buckle underneath him.

“I think,” Keith grinds out, “I need’ta punish you.”

“ _Punish_ me?” Shiro echoes the words, incredulous, before his eyelids lower and his lips curl into a Cheshire grin. The glitter still on his cheeks shimmer as his skin shifts over gorgeous cheekbones. Keith audibly gulps.

“Yeah. I think you need to learn a lesson,” Keith says. His voice wavers. Shiro likes the way he squares up his shoulders, like he wants to be tough. It’s so, _so_ cute. Shiro's smile becomes so utterly peaceful and innocent that it makes Keith run a nervous tongue over his lips. Too easy.

“A lesson? What could you mean?” he simpers. Hand flat on Keith’s chest, he turns them around and presses Keith up against the truck. His thighs flex beautifully as he lowers himself, spreading his knees wide as if _Keith_ is a stripper pole. Both hands remain planted on either side of the front of Keith's hips and Shiro's thumbs tease their way into the belt loops of his bluejeans. Sure enough, there is quite an impressive bulge there waiting for him, which brings a wicked smile to Shiro’s lips.

Before he can do anything, however, there’s a hand in his hair and a sharp tug, which drags a whine out from him. He stands again, helpless to Keith’s silent command, and looks at his fiancé with parted lips and blown pupils.

Oh, Keith’s eyes are on _fire_.

He squeezes his thighs together.

“One week,” Keith huffs. His cheeks are flushed and Shiro just smiles at him, oh so sweet. Keith stammers, “O-One week, Shiro. You get nothin’. You don’t get to make any more messes—“

“Baby, that’s _your_ cum on the upho—“

Keith pulls his hair, forcing his head back. Shiro lets out a giggle that tapers into a low groan as Keith leans forward to bite at his bared pulse.

“You should’ve swallowed, darlin’.”

It comes out as a growl and Shiro laughs again, breathless and punctuated with soft panting. Eyes unfocused, he grins and runs his tongue over his teeth.

“T-Tell me more about my punishment...?”

“No cumming,” Keith says. Shiro’s adam’s apple bobs dramatically, but he’s still smiling. “No touchin’ yourself...”

“Oh, _sugar_ , are you sure _you’ll_ be able to last?” His voice is sweet venom as Keith’s hand falters in his hair. Shiro looks down at him. His eyes, deep and brown, are dark and full of knowing. The innocent, warm Shiro is gone, replaced by something almost primal. He feels a hot rush towards his crotch as he watches doubt flit over Keith’s expression. He latches onto that mortal fear like he's a demon, hitching up a leg and bracing it on the step bar on Keith’s truck. He half-boxes Keith in with a _whole lotta_ thigh. Slow, torturous, he runs his hand from the top of his thigh to his knee.

Keith swallows again and nearly loses his cowboy hat when he tips his head back against the side of the truck.

“You’re a menace when you drink,” Keith finally says. His voice sounds hoarse and Shiro, emboldened, grabs Keith’s hand and draws it to his lips to lick a long stripe up his palm, across his engagement ring, and to the very tip of his ring finger. Keith watches with wide eyes.

“I wanna play your little game. One week?” Shiro hums. Keith’s eyes flick to Shiro’s and the fire is back, his lips pinched into a tight line.

“One week. No touchin’ yourself, an’ you don’t get to cum.”

“Mmm... sounds like more of a challenge for _you_ , baby.”

He knows Keith wants to bite the smirk right off his face, so he plays it up even more. Keith’s chest heaves and he smacks Shiro’s inner thigh with a loud, resounding _slap_. It cracks through the air and Shiro hisses at the sting of it. Keith shoves his leg off the step bar, expression ablaze and his posture wound up tight.

“Deal or no deal, Shiro?”

“ _Deal_.”

-*-

The morning after, Shiro’s sure Keith has forgotten about their little heated conversation last night, because he wakes up to the hot, slick sensation of Keith rutting up between his buttcheeks. Still sleepy and warm, Shiro hums and nestles his face into his pillow as he lazily works his hips up and down. Well, it was nice for the seven hours it lasted. Keith grips him, fingers dipping into the junction between hip and thigh.

Shiro’s a little disappointed. He’d been looking forward to Keith’s fruitless attempt to resist him for a whole week. A little punishment from Keith is unheard of; especially considering it normally takes about five minutes of half-assed pole-dancing to have Keith ripping his clothes off like a starved maniac.

Behind him, Keith grunts as his hips start to stutter. Shiro waits for him to pull away to ward off his orgasm as he always does, already ready to roll onto his tummy to get a good pounding into the mattress. It’s the perfect way to start the day, really.

Except Keith doesn’t pull back.

He pushes Shiro onto his belly anyway, rising up out of bed and holding Shiro’s ass cheeks tight around his dick as he continues to thrust. Shiro shifts, confused, because it feels like Keith’s about to bring it home without doing _anything_. Huffing and feeling a little betrayed, Shiro moves his arm down to reach under himself so he can rub one out. If Keith’s going to be selfish this morning, fine.

He never gets that chance.

Keith grabs his wrist and pins it to the bed, stopping him from touching himself. Shiro’s eyes blow wide open and he lets out a surprised whimper. The next time he shifts, Keith slaps his ass with his free hand, spreads his cheek, and snarls through an orgasm. Shiro jolts as he feels ropes of slick heat across his untouched hole, his lower back, and the insides of his cheeks.

“Mmm,” Keith groans, satisfied. He releases Shiro, giving him another sharp smack across his other buttcheek. Shiro jolts again, wide awake now with an almost painful hard-on pinned between his belly and the sheets.

“...Keith...” he says. Quiet. Warning. “...Keith, now you _know_ that isn’t fair.”

“You agreed, sweet pea,” Keith croons. As he slides his fingertips up Shiro’s spine, Shiro moans and gives a faint shudder.

“Oh, _no_.”

“Oh yes,” Keith insists. Now he's wearing the devil's grin. “This is your punishment. I only said _you_ couldn’t touch _yourself_. An’ no cumming for _you_.”

“Keith!” Shiro gasps, appalled. Keith lets him roll over onto his back. He spreads his legs, making sure Keith gets an eyeful of both his erection and the cum still sticky between his cheeks. Keith just looks smug, even though he's avoiding looking straight down.

“You think it ain’t fair. But it ain’t fair how sexy you are, an’ how you look right now,” he murmurs. “It ain’t fair that you’re always seducin’ me. It’s my turn to make you squirm.”

Shiro’s eyes widen a little. Alright, _now_ he’s a little scared. Keith catches the look on his face and chuckles, leaning down and bracing himself over Shiro with his hands planted on either side of his head. He stoops down to peck his lips. Shiro, still unsatisfied and raring to go, gives a weak little warble and kisses him back. His tongue darts over Keith’s lips. Maybe he can seduce him, yet...

Keith pulls away and smiles crookedly.

“You wanna tap out of our li’l game, you just let me know,” he says. “If you feel like it’s gettin’ too real...”

Shiro huffs. Admitting defeat? In a no-sex challenge? The thought brings a scowl to his face and Keith laughs fondly at him, stroking his cheek.

“I love you,” Keith says. It sounds more like a tease, but Shiro still softens under his touch. “I mean it. If y’have to tap out, you can.”

“I love you, too,” Shiro answers him, but he lifts his hand and smacks Keith’s away. He smirks, buzzing with a desire to win. Keith grins and bites his bottom lip. There’s that blazing look in his eyes again. Shiro hums, “And no. I’m going to get you, sugar.”

“Don’t count on it.”

-*-

By Wednesday, three days after they declared their silly little game, Shiro feels resentment towards whatever higher power made Keith Kogane sex on legs. Maybe it’s the lack of orgasms talking, but he swears Keith is doing every little thing on purpose, just to rile him up.

The P90X videos have made another appearance, and Shiro nearly dropped the laundry basket he’d been carrying earlier when he found Keith doing absolutely amazing things with his body on the floor of the living room. Heart pounding in his chest, he had made a beeline for the laundry room, only for Keith to call behind him to remind him not to touch himself.

He laughed. Shiro wanted to scream.

Now, he’s distracting himself how he always does: animal care. Sitting cross-legged in the rabbit pen, he holds out lettuce to the bunnies and tries not to coo as they nibble right out of his hands. Now _this_ is therapeutic. He can almost forget the thrum of near-constant heat in his belly. He can almost forget how, this morning, Keith had woken him up with his tongue between his asscheeks. It had been incredible, up until the point he pulled away, spilled his load on the backs of Shiro’s thighs, and left him stewing and horribly aroused in his own wet spot on the bed.

Keith is a cruel, cruel angel.

At around noon, he’s finished feeding (and spoiling) the bunnies and the chickens. Brushing downy feathers from his hair, he makes his way towards the front of the house and pauses.

Keith’s taking a break, it looks like, leaning up against the back wheel of one of the tractors as he chats with Hunk and Lance. Shiro stops completely and just stares at Keith’s bare chest, tan lines and all. His sun-kissed skin is damp with sweat from the August sun, shimmering even with dirt and tractor oil smudged all over his bare flesh. His hair is pulled up into the ponytail Shiro loves to pull when they’re in bed. He hooks his thumb in his belt; Shiro recognizes the gold belt buckle because it’s been imprinted into his forehead several times before.

Keith takes a long drink from a can of Sprite and Shiro nearly dies on the spot. He’s laughing, having a good time, probably nowhere near as horny as Shiro is. He lifts his hand to his brow to wipe off the sweat and happens to look over just then, catching Shiro in the act of gaping at him.

He mimics tipping his cowboy hat to Shiro, even though he’s not even wearing it right now. It’s _so_ lame. He's _so_ dorky.

Shiro’s dick gives a pathetic twitch in his pants.

God _bless_ Tim Horton.

Shiro doesn’t give Keith the pleasure of seeing him blush, turning sharply to make his way to the garden. He hears Keith laughing again and the back of his neck gets overly warm. With iron will, he kneels in the dirt and uses a trowel to fiercely attack weeds in his cherry tomato plants. He mutters to himself and pulls a little container closer so he can pluck the little red fruits and plunk them into the Tupperware.

Two can play at this game.

-*-

Shiro corners Keith in the shower that night. He sneaks into the bathroom while his fiancé is in the middle of a particularly shitty country song. Although his singing voice is beautiful, Shiro doesn’t have time for it as he yanks the shower curtain back and nearly makes Keith jump out of his skin and scream.

Stripping down into nothing faster than Keith can protest, Shiro steps into the shower and flips the curtain back into place. He comes at Keith like a wolf, knotting his fingers in his shampooed hair and kissing him with ruthless intent. Keith groans, eyes rolling back. He puts his hands up on Shiro’s pecs, squeezing idly. Good.

Shiro’s going to make him break if it kills him.

Sinking to the floor of the shower, Shiro grabs Keith’s thighs and nuzzles into the dark hairs at the base of his dick. A little bit of musk from the day is still there, thick and heady and enough to send a surge of arousal southward with one deep inhale. Shiro moans, rocking his hips, and he feels a wave of triumph as Keith’s cock hardens quickly and throbs against the underside of his chin.

“Keith,” Shiro purrs. He lavishes kisses up and down Keith’s shaft, enough to make the man groan above him. His hips give a weak, stuttering jolt forward. Shiro moans for him, ducking down to flick his tongue against Keith’s balls and elicit a sharp gasp from him. Darkly, “ _Keith_ , baby...”

Keith sinks his fingers into Shiro’s hair. Knots them. Pulls. Shiro’s eyes roll in his head and his eyelashes flutter.

“Suck,” he demands. His voice is fire and ice all at once, and Shiro doesn’t dare disobey his order. Relaxing his throat, he takes Keith to the root all in one go. He looks up through dark lashes at him, eyes heavily lidded and his lips pliant and soft around him. Keith bites his knuckle, eyes shut as he thrusts shallowly into Shiro’s waiting lips.

Shiro lets him fuck his mouth, willing himself to stay mostly still with his fists clenched tightly on his thighs. Keith uses him like he would any warm, wet hole, and the thought has Shiro’s cock drooling pre into the spray of water on the shower floor. What he wouldn’t give to touch himself...

“ _No_ ,” Keith snarls. Shiro didn’t realize he’d been reaching for himself until Keith stops him, and he obediently puts his hands back on his thighs. He looks up again, meeting Keith’s gaze. He has a twisted expression on his face, his voice hitching beautifully, “I’m cumming.”

He does. Shiro moans helplessly as Keith floods his mouth. He swallows everything. Cleans him up. Coaxes the last few spurts out of him with hazy eyes and a heavy feeling on his tongue. God, he wants this.

Pulling back, he looks up at Keith with his lips hanging open, his cherry red lips still shining with Keith’s mess. Strings of it hang between his teeth. Keith visibly shudders, but he smoothes his hand through Shiro’s hair. For a second, Shiro thinks he’s going to call all of this off.

“You’re so good for me,” Keith drawls. Shiro’s cock twitches desperately. “You like bein’ good for me, don’t you?”

“No,” Shiro says. He flicks his gaze upwards and runs his tongue over his lips. Something flashes in Keith’s eyes and Shiro drags his teeth over his bottom lip.

“Then I’m goin’ta enjoy breakin’ you apart,” Keith says. The darkness threads into his voice like a mist, and Shiro gives a full-body shiver on the floor of the shower. Part of him wants to grovel at Keith’s feet. The other part of him wants to see how far he can push this little game.

“You can’t break me, _sir_.” Shiro enunciates the last word with a nip to Keith’s hip bone, which draws a growl from him. Shiro narrows his eyes up at him, kissing and sucking a bright red mark into Keith’s hip. “Not before I break _you_.”

Keith pants, and for a brief moment Shiro is sure he’s already cracked his iron resolve, penetrated that awful, _wonderful_ stubbornness of his.

Instead he feels Keith’s foot pressing his cock flush against his belly and making him keen, frantic and horrified by the sounds that burst out of him. Keith just smiles.

He wins the battle.

-*-

Keith ups the ante tenfold after that, and Shiro doesn’t know if it’s because he’s worried he’ll actually lose to Shiro’s seduction methods, or if he truly wants to see Shiro shatter to pieces. He suspects it’s a little of both, but amidst all the torture he can’t really think straight.

Shiro is quickly unraveling at the seams, driven to desperation over and over. Still, he doesn’t yield. After a particularly intense session that leaves him in tears, Keith gently reminds him that he loves him and that he’s so, _so_ good. He offers again to let Shiro tap out of this if it’s too much, that he’ll take care of Shiro, let him cum as many times as he wants.

But that’d be defeat, and Shiro answers him by eating his ass out so good that he very nearly puts Keith into a catatonic state.

By Friday night, Shiro can think of nothing else but Keith’s eyes boring into him as he swings round and round on the stripper pole. The strobe lights on him burn him brighter than any sun tonight, and he’s acutely aware of the impressive bulge in his thong. It’s both exhilarating and humiliating. Still, he gets easily twice as much money tonight than he gets on most Fridays. It’s definitely because everyone knows it’s a very _real_ arousal under that thin material. It’s written in the wrinkle of Shiro's pinched expression, whispered in the sigh that wavers past his lips.

Keith watches him with his fingernails dug into the leather of his front row seat. Shiro feels his gaze, hot and heavy on him. He throbs in front of dozens of people, but all he can see is Keith.

He gets a private client later who is too handsy with him, enough that Shiro puts an abrupt end to their session and has him escorted out by security. Though he’s relieved that he still gets paid for it even though he’s going home forty-five minutes early, it leaves him hot and wanting for nothing but Keith.

The truck ride home is quiet. Shiro had been planning to suck Keith off in the truck again, maybe mess up the upholstery in the front seat so it'll match the back, but any arousal Keith might’ve felt before has been replaced with a boiling rage.

When they come to a stop in their driveway, Keith shuts off the engine. Looking over, Shiro sees him illuminated by pale moonlight. His Galran eyes have manifested, pupils narrowed into slits. He’s got a death grip on the steering wheel.

When Shiro reaches for the door handle, there’s a heavy _thunk_ as the door locks and stops him in his tracks. Shiro blinks and looks back at his fiancé, who stares back at him, finger still on the lock button.

“I want to erase his touch,” Keith says. His voice pitched lower, like a growl. So very, very different. Shiro shivers and reaches for the armrest between them. He lifts it up, freeing up the middle seat. Keith shucks his seatbelt and slides towards him. Patting his lap, he murmurs, “Pull your pants down. Lay across me.”

Again, Shiro shivers. He bites his lip and almost shyly pushes his sweatpants down to the middle of his thighs. His breath comes out in shivering puffs of air as he drapes himself over Keith’s lap. Of course he isn’t afraid Keith is going to hurt him—he would never. But he wonders if Keith will let him cum...

Keith smacks Shiro across the ass, barely hard enough to sting. Still, Shiro whimpers and wriggles in his lap, folding his arms under his head in the driver’s seat. Keith massages the place he’d slapped. Shiro can still feel the anger radiating off of him.

“I want’ta fuck you so hard that you forget your name,” Keith snarls. Shiro lets out a full-on whimper, his cock hardening helplessly where it’s pinned between Keith’s legs. His jeans are rough on the over-sensitive skin. There’s another sharp slap as Keith spanks him again, making Shiro jolt and nearly burst into tears. Keith continues, even darker, “Until you forget what that guy looked like.”

“I already have,” Shiro mewls, and it’s true. Keith’s hand stills, his thumb smoothing over the hand print he’s left on Shiro’s glorious globe of an ass. Shiro hears Keith inhale through his nose above him. Exhale through his gritted fangs.

“You’re mine,” Keith reminds him. Shiro wants to sob and rut into Keith’s thighs until he releases everything that’s been pent up in the last six days. But for whatever reason, his hips stay obediently still. Keith continues to massage his stinging ass cheek. Quietly, “I love you, Takashi. I adore you. You love your job so much an’ pieces of shit keep fuckin’ up your good nights. I'll kill 'em. I'll kill any of 'em. You just gotta say the word.”

The use of Shiro’s first name really does make him burst into tears, and he whimpers again as Keith retrieves something from his pocket. He hears something pop and barely flinches as oil, warm from Keith’s body heat, drizzles between his ass cheeks and rolls down in rivulets. It tickles over his balls, pulled taut against his body.

“It’s worth it,” Shiro huffs, dizzy with need and shallowly bucking into Keith’s thighs. Keith spreads his legs a little so Shiro has less friction to rut against, and it makes him whine.

“Stop movin’. You’re still not off the hook,” Keith demands. Shiro’s hips still instantly and he shivers. He slaps Shiro’s ass once more, and it’s twice as loud and wet from the oil. “And nothin’ is worth your pain, Shiro.”

“I love your eyes on me,” Shiro sighs. He starts to babble, desire mounting inside of him. “I l-love knowing you’re watching me, I love that I get to come home to you, I love it when you make me yours and no one else’s, I love it when you get jealous and need to fuck me right in the truck in the parking lot, I love it when you’re inside of me and when you make me scream, like yours is the only name I’ll ever scream again—“

“My name _is_ the only name you’ll ever scream again,” Keith bites. Sharp. Harsh. Shiro’s eyes swim with more tears as he gets one more slap on his ass. With his forearm pinning Shiro’s hips down, Keith uses that hand to spread Shiro’s cheeks, and the other to push his finger into his hole. Shiro lets out a strangled plea, thighs shaking with the effort not to rut into Keith’s lap until he spills over.

He doesn’t. He moans, broken, as Keith slips another finger inside of him and curls ruthlessly against him. Every time Shiro feels himself getting close to the edge, however, Keith switches tactics and forces Shiro to cool down before he starts to ramp him up again.

“Keith. Keith, oh God, Keith, _please_ —“ A string of pleas are tumbling from his lips without his permission. His eyes roll back in his head as his hole clenches and tightens desperately around Keith’s fingers. Keith curses, low and under his breath, like it’s taking all of his willpower not to shove Shiro into the dashboard and fuck him silly.

“You can’t cum yet, darlin’,” Keith whispers. Shiro sobs, nails digging into the same upholstery that got him into this mess in the first place. Keith leans over him to kiss the middle of his still-clothed back, “No matter how much you beg or cry.”

That Galran growl is back in his voice. Shiro’s vision turns black around the edges, until all he can hear is his own desperate panting. Tears run down his cheeks and he barely registers that he’s babbling again.

_“Keith. Keith, please, oh God, please, I-I need—let me cum, let me cum, I’ll do anything, please—“_

Keith curses again. From under Shiro, his hips give an involuntary buck upwards and Shiro nearly screams as his jeans brush ever-so-slightly against the underside of his cock. Keith’s fingers piledrive into him, never enough to make him cum, but just enough to make him go crazy.

He bites the stupid upholstery and drools all over it.

And then Keith stops completely, makes a strangled sound of satisfaction, and withdraws his fingers.

His hips are still twitching a little, and Shiro is too exhausted to be triumphant that he had made Keith cum in his pants like a schoolboy. Cock still rock hard and twitching, he slumps on top of Keith’s lap.

“I’m sorry,” he moans. “I’m sorry about your seats...”

He weeps from the intensity of their game, but flames still lick inside of him deep and hot. Keith reaches out, petting his hair with his clean hand. He’s calmed down significantly, the Galran eyes gone.

“Shiro...” he whispers. “I’m not angry with you.”

Shiro empties his lungs in a long sigh. There's another wave of tears, but relief spreads warmly over him like a blanket. He knows Keith would never be angry with him over something so small, of course, but to be fair that's hard to remember with fingers in his ass. 

“I love you,” Keith breathes. Shiro’s cock twitches again and he moans. Keith continues, “You’re doin’ so good, darlin’. I’ll let you cum tomorrow.”

A pause. His voice comes back lighter, carrying no authority;

“Do you need to tap out? I can take care a’you tonight. If it’s what you need.”

The warmth of Keith’s love and care fills Shiro up to bursting, and he lets out a tearful little sound into the seat.

“N-No... no, Keith, I love you. I trust you. I'm okay. I want it.”

Keith’s hand, still wet, traces hearts into Shiro’s asscheek. It’s so touching and endearing, Shiro can’t help but to arch his back and press his butt more firmly against Keith’s touch.

“I’m goin’ta make you feel so good tomorrow. Give you your reward,” Keith assures him, sinking back into the scene. Shiro moans helplessly. “Can you be good? Are you goin’ to wait for me?”

Shiro bobs his head up and down. He accepts his thorough defeat without shame. Keith wins the war, and Shiro is on the very edge, teetering between wholeness and breaking apart into a dozen pieces at Keith’s mercy. It’s such a great thing for Keith to hold, but his hands are capable. Shiro trusts him with his heart, his life, his body. He knows Keith trusts him, too.

Aware that Keith’s eyes are on him, Shiro brings his left hand to his lips and presses a long, adoring kiss to the ring on his finger.

“Yes, Keith.”

-*-

Keith doesn’t grind himself to completion between Shiro’s ass in the morning. In fact, Shiro wakes up to an empty bed. That’s odd; they almost always sleep in on Saturday together. Surprised, his eyelashes flutter open and he looks around in alarm. There’s no way he slept through Keith waking up. As he reaches over, he feels the crinkle of paper beneath his hand and he grabs at it, finding a note on Keith’s pillow. He lifts it to read.

_Good morning, sweet pea. Went out to get the chores done early. Breakfast smoothie in the freezer._

_Be ready when I get back._

A full-body shiver goes through Shiro like a lightning strike. Keith’s words on the paper are even more scrawled than usual, like he’d been in a hurry to get out of the room. Shiro wonders if Keith had been tempted by his sleeping form, and the thought of that has him quivering again. They’ll have to explore that avenue sometime in the future, maybe.

He gets up and his body is already reacting against his will, his dick hanging hard and heavy in his sweatpants as he practically limps to the kitchen. He can barely gulp down the smoothie, too busy thinking about gulping down _something else._

Choking on the flavor of vanilla protein, he laughs and shakes his head at his own apparent debauchery. Who knew after only a week he’d revert back to a desperate, rutting twenty-year-old.

When he’s finished with his puttering around the kitchen, he goes to the bathroom to prepare himself properly. It takes a borderline hilarious amount of effort not to jerk himself off right into the shower drain, but he’s not known to back down from a challenge. Face pressed up against shower wall, he rides his own fingers with one foot propped up on the ridge of the tub. Panting harshly against the wall, he opens bleary eyes and freezes upon seeing a shadow outside the shower curtain.

“Keith,” he whimpers. The shower curtain slides open and Shiro’s mouth falls open as he gives his fingers another good curl inside of himself. Keith stands there in jeans and a plaid shirt, cowboy hat still perched on his head. His lip curls, cruel and fond and adoring all at once. It sends shivers down Shiro’s spine, and he smiles back at him through the haze of arousal.

“You gettin’ yourself good an’ ready for me?” Keith hums. He has a calm look on his face, but Shiro doesn’t miss the waver in his voice. He just moans in response, watching as Keith strips down and climbs into the tub behind him. “Mm.”

He swats Shiro’s hand away from his ass and quickly takes up his place, wriggling his fingers into Shiro’s body to continue stretching him out. Shiro bites his lip and bows his back dramatically, his head thrown back. He pushes himself up onto his toes, calves trembling as his cock throbs with need.

Keith is nonchalant and silent behind Shiro, which only heightens Shiro’s reactions to every touch and curl of his fingers.

“I’m gonna let you go, darlin’,” Keith announces. Shiro whines loudly as his fingers retreat. “Get out ‘n dry off. Wait in bed for me.”

Shiro could almost growl. Keith is definitely doing this on purpose, drawing the inevitable on longer and longer. He pushes himself up and turns in the shower spray, blocking most of it with his broad shoulders. Fiercely, he grabs Keith’s face and yanks him in for a frantic kiss. Keith starts, surprised, but is quick to melt against Shiro, his hands grabbing his hips with surprising strength.

“Gotta get rinsed off. Sweaty,” Keith mumbles, which earns him an angry bite on his bottom lip. He hisses, and his nails dig into Shiro’s hips. Yellow starts to bleed into the sclera of his eye, pupils narrowing. 

“Fuck me _now_ ,” Shiro _does_ snarl this time. Keith locks up against him and inhales through his gritted teeth, sharp and deliberate.

He finally snaps.

The next few moments involve a lot of lips, teeth, and wet limbs. Keith grabs Shiro from under his thighs and hoists him up like he weighs nothing. But Shiro _definitely_ isn’t light, and the sudden display of strength has him keening and yanking Keith’s hair and kissing him harder and raking his nails up his back. They knock into everything on their way to the bedroom, including an end table at the end of the hall which falls over with a crash. Some of Shiro’s weird chicken-shaped knick-knacks clatter and roll across the floor.

Keith slams Shiro up against the bedroom door and the impact alone almost makes Shiro see stars behind his eyelids as his hips press flush against Keith’s taut frame.

Still soaking wet from the shower, they barely make it to the bed and flop over in a flurry of sheets and pillows. Keith grabs Shiro and flips him around, shoving his face and chest into the mattress and yanking his hips up so he’s on his knees.

“Yes. Yes, _yes_ , yes—“ Shiro chants. He quivers with anticipation, teeth digging hard into his bottom lip and his fists knotted up in the sheets. Behind him, Keith is snarling between pants. Shiro doesn’t need to look at him to know his Galran features have manifested again. He feels Keith’s claws digging into his hips.

There’s a brief pause while Keith grabs lube. He doesn’t take his time with it; he spreads Shiro’s cheeks and squeezes a liberal amount directly onto his twitching hole and pops his thumb inside to spread it around. Delirious with need, Shiro bucks his hips helplessly backwards, looking for friction.

That earns him a sharp slap across his left cheek that has him crying out Keith’s name into the mattress.

“Be good,” Keith demands, his voice a low rumble. Shiro has no time to respond before he feels Keith surge up behind him, working his cock past the initial ring and continuing to thrust forward. Shiro’s eyes fly wide open, mouth stretched open in a silent scream as Keith roughly sinks inside with one long thrust.

He’s no spring chicken. He’s done this once or a hundred times before, but it still doesn’t prepare him for the initial searing sensation inside of him. He can’t make any sound, all of the wind punched out of his lungs and his eyes wide and rung with tears. Keith, wonderful Keith, gives Shiro a blessed few moments of pause to let him adjust. It doesn’t take long.

“Darlin’,” is all Keith says, voice soothing. “Shiro. Takashi.”

All that comes out of Shiro is a desperate sob, his hips moving back of their own accord to try and dig Keith deeper inside of him. Somewhere behind him, Keith’s breath hitches. It’s all the confirmation he needs. Holding Shiro’s hips steady, he pulls back and slams back in. Shiro’s voice comes back in a crescendo, voice rising from a soft whine to a keening cry. His fingers grip the sheets tighter, and he feels Keith hunch over him. He bites the mattress beneath him for good measure.

The snap of Keith’s hips are wonderfully, deliciously cruel. Shiro lays his cheek against the sheets, tears leaking freely from his eyes as Keith takes and takes and _takes_. His pace is breakneck, reckless and fiery. Very _Keith_ , like a rocket or the expelled energy from an exploding star. Shiro’s eyes roll, eyelashes fluttering and drool making his lips gleam and drip.

Above him, Keith snarls between thrusts before he doubles over Shiro, blanketing his back with his body and tilting his chin up so he can lick a hot stripe up the shell of Shiro’s ear. Shiro lets out a shrill cry when Keith bites his ear, Galran fangs sinking into the soft flesh. Between his legs, his cock throbs hard and he knows he can’t hold on.

“O-Oh, oh God, Keith, f-fuh—harder, _harder_ —“

His voice is rapidly climbing in pitch and volume. Above him, Keith grunts and huffs with every press inside of him, his hips becoming erratic and desperate. He thrusts sharp and shallow, and it’s enough for Shiro to crumble into pieces, utterly broken.

“ _Beg_ , Takashi,” Keith grinds out through clenched fangs.

_“P-Please, please, harder—harde—oh, oh—uh, Keith, Keith I need—I’m gonna—please—“_

Keith reaches around him and squeezes Shiro’s balls with a vice grip. That’s all it takes. Shiro’s voice spikes into a scream. Distantly, he hears sheets ripping as he digs his forehead into the bed and wails through his powerful orgasm. Keith sputters and his hips jolt to a stop as he empties himself so deep inside of him, Shiro swears he can almost taste it.

The mess Shiro makes is unreal. His cock is still leaking into the sizable puddle he’s made on the bed, giving soft, futile twitches every few seconds.

Keith withdraws from him, shaking, and helps Shiro flop onto his side.

Dazed, Shiro barely registers the movement. The sheets are cold and wet, and he’s pretty sure he’s ripped an impressive hole in them with his prosthetic hand. Small prices to pay for a fuck so good, he supposes.

With strength Shiro can’t fathom, Keith scoops his arms under Shiro’s back and knees and lifts him from the bed. The jostling makes Shiro jump and twitch, whining from the feeling of overstimulation all over his entire body. Keith carries him gently into the living room, where the fold-up bed inside the couch has already been pulled out. This wrings an exhausted laugh out of Shiro as he’s laid out across the mattress like he’s a precious gemstone.

“You were prepared, huh?” Shiro asks. Keith says nothing, only crawling onto the mattress beside Shiro and lying beside him. Shiro turns onto his side, draping a leg over Keith’s and tangling their legs together. Keith smiles, weary, and shifts so he can hold Shiro’s shoulders close to him. He idly plays with Shiro’s hair.

“You’ve now ruined the bed, an’ _all_ of the seats of my truck. We’re gonna have’ta start wrappin’ our furniture in plastic,” Keith muses. This draws another tired laugh out of Shiro, whose eyelids are beginning to grow heavy.

“Guess you’ll have to get rid of me,” he hums. Keith’s fingers tug lightly at the short hairs on the back of Shiro’s neck.

“Nah, babe. Someone needs’ta keep them chickens fat ‘n spoiled, and it ain’t gonna be me.”

Shiro giggles, energy fading quickly. He feels Keith’s lips pressing a long kiss into his forehead.

“Mine forever,” he murmurs, possessive. Shiro lets out a soft moan, once again finding himself helpless as Keith tickles his fingers down Shiro’s back. “Mm. _Mine_.”

“Yours,” Shiro sighs, agreeing. He strokes Keith’s pec and Keith takes his hand, holding it over his steadily thumping heart. Shiro can’t fight it as his eyelids close completely, threatening him with the pull of sleep.

“Next time let’s try two weeks.”

Shiro uses his last bit of energy to twist Keith’s nipple until he squeaks and shuts his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> [You can find the Yeehaw AU and @buffshiro's artwork here.](https://twitter.com/buffshiro)  
>     
>  [You can follow me on twitter here.](https://twitter.com/inkweaving)
> 
> no one beta read this because I was too embarrassed to share it


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